The Marriage of Rob Granger
by friend2friend1
Summary: I've always loved this author, Mary Stewart, of famed Merlin trilogy renown. The book Touch Not the Cat is a journey into faded English manors, mystery and murder, what more could you ask for? I've taken a different POV than the book's main character. Hope you like it!
1. Chapter 1

Preface to my story, which is my take on Mary Stewart's 'Touch Not the Cat', a much-loved favourite. The book is almost entirely from one character's POV and I would dearly love to write it from a couple of the other character's.

Excerpt is from Wikipedia, "The heroine, Bryony, has the gift of telepathy, and is able to communicate subliminally with a man she regards as her lover, but whose identity she is unsure of. She knows that he is a blood relative, and assumes him to be one of her three male cousins, twins Emory and James, and the younger Francis. As the story begins, Bryony is being summoned back to her beloved England from abroad. As the story unfolds, she is always seeking to learn the identity of her telepathic contact." end of Wikipedia article

**List of Characters of Importance**

William Ashley- newly deceased victim of a car accident as the story begins, trust-holder of Ashley Grange, a moated English estate that has been in the family for generations.

Bryony Ashley- only child of William Ashley, who has recently living abroad in Madeira. (has a telepathic friend)

Emory, James and Francis Ashley- Bryony's first cousins, whose parents live abroad.

The Vicar - Mr. Bryanston

Mr. and Mrs. Henderson - caretakers of the estate, Mrs. Henderson is housekeeper to the Vicar, etc..

Rob Granger- homeboy, gardener, jack of all trades. He has a secret no-one knows.

*Minor Characters

the Underhills - Americans who have a lease agreement for part of the manor

Lesley Oker- a book seller

lawyer to the estate- Mr. Emerson

Jon Ashley's doctor- Dr. Walther Gotthardt

* * *

'And some win peace who spend

The skill of words to sweeten despair

Of finding consolation where

Life has but one dark end.

-from "The Riddlers" by Walter de la Mare

***hopefully the prologue will cover the necessary beginnings without being too confusing..

* * *

Prologue

The arduous climb back to the man's lodgings at the local sanatorium at Bad Tolz were taking their toll on him. The months of bronchial therapy and rest had brought him almost back to himself, so much so that he believed he was almost ready to return to England and his beloved Ashley Grange.

Thankfully, Ashley had no steep mountain grades or improbable ascents, being rather more the gentle Anglo geography in all its pastoral glory. He missed it dreadfully, as much as he missed the daughter who had been working in a hotel on the island of Madeira.

Where was that bus? He had left Bad Tolz behind far longer than it should've taken the lumbering vehicle to catch up with him.

And then, the faintest sound of a large engine reached him, gearing its way down as it hurriedly approached the hairpin curve below him. Tiredly, he stepped a little farther onto the pavement, as he waited for the bus to come up from behind.

It was a terrifyingly efficient blow from the large car's fender that tossed the man effortlessly aside, his body limply crashing through the brush, coming to rest in a crumpled heap against a stone.

Through a reddening fog of pain, he reached out in an agonizing cry...one that was heard half a continent away.

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Chapter 1

The period of endless waiting for his 'lover' to re-enter his life were taking their toll on Rob. It had been eight months of longing since he had been in her presence, and to his sorrow, even that had been the usual final exchange of instructions and assurances between the garden-boy and his 'betters' so to speak. He had driven them to the train, Bryony and her father, Mr. Ashley, on their way to Madeira and Switzerland respectively. He pondered his situation as he returned to his quiet abode. There was no other way in his mind to view his IRL relationship to Bryony. Garden-boy at best, which was why at present his identity was a mystery to Bryony and likely to remain so if he had anything to say about it.

It was certain to him by now that Bryony herself, while being at a loss as to his identity,was eager, even desperate to learn it. The affectionate but vague titles of 'boy' and 'you', long held ones from childhood, came through in most of telepathic dialogues, but at odd unguarded moments, the sensation of being pressed for an unwary acknowledgement to a given name came through, being strenuously resisted on his part. His best aids in keeping her at bay in this matter were the fact that she had three familiar Ashley cousins to be curious about as well, and his own completely hidden knowledge of Ashley ancestry.

No one had guessed it, the secret sharing of thought patterns that existed between he and Bryony Ashley, although Mr. Ashley, the titled heir to the entire estate, was a curious sort, given to odd looks and slightly weighted statements. Perhaps it was only the radar a father had in regards to a younger man's attention to his beloved daughter, but Rob was sometimes sure it was more than that. Whether or not, it was by and large unspoken subject between them, which suited Rob entirely. Even so, his respect for his employer had caused him to strive to be vigelant to be sober and chaste in his connections with Bryony.

As he finished the light supper left to him by Mrs. Henderson, the estate's housekeeper, retiring afterward to his solitary bed, he was careful to keep his thoughts from drifting towards her. The darkened telepathic doorway between them was comforting in that it existed, much as a telephone line linked him to the local grocer or doctor. Perilous or not, the link was as much a part of him as breathing.

Sometime during the night, he sat up in bed, aware of a sickening feeling, jarring, harsh, and acidic. Another darkened entrance had burst open in a torrent of hot molten feeling, and as it swirled through him, he insensately let the long familiar door swing open. Immediately the torrent surged toward it, seeking an outlet.

He spoke her name repeatedly, striving to stem the torrent, instantly protective of her mental processes.

"Bryony?" As her mind opened to his, he could feel the latent warmth of the island night, and the sensation of gently moving shadows superimposed themselves on his conscious thoughts. Perhaps flowers, but if so, they were of some pale, globular species not native to England.

He could sense her struggle to clear the fog of sleep from her brain, as the urgent pleadings of a dying man echoed through both of their consciousnesses.

"Bryony.. Are you listening?" he spoke earnestly into the distance between them.

The answer came back, the intensity of concentration reassuring him that she was getting the gist of what was being transmitted to them.

"I've got it, I think. It's Daddy, isn't it?... a pause... "He's taken ill?"

"Yes," he agreed hastily, "I don't know more, but you better go to him."

He heard nothing more as she broke off the connection, but her purposefulness came through. Bryony Ashley would soon be in Bad Tolz, and if God willed, perhaps eventually on Ashley Grange's hallowed ground itself.

* * *

well, tell me if you like it... I know I should be posting on my Sherlock story but I'm doing some research making sure the story will work... sigh... don't hate me.. if you haven't read Touch not the Cat you ought to..


	2. Chapter 2

Sadly, I am NOT Mary Stewart, the creator of these lovely characters and plots...

Even so, I have managed to garner a few views and even a LOVELY comment from Question42, THANKS!

without further ado

* * *

Chapter two

Arising before the sun rose on a new day, his mind went over the incident that had awakened him during the night. In the light of day, he recalled the entreaty that had been implicit in her farewell, echoing painfully.

She had hastily inquired if there was any chance of encountering him at Ashley. As always, the thought of a denouement and a face to face encounter fueled his sense of inadequacy, as his conscience seemed to reprove him at his forwardness in continuing to encourage intimacy between he and the estate heir.

It was these feelings that fostered his repulsing of her request, resulting in the inevitable soundless wistfulness emanating from his lover's heart. Not wishing to leave her forlorn, for a brief unguarded moment he allowed her to feel the depth of his constancy and love.

There was more than enough to do around Ashley Court, and the potential of family descending added to the list of tasks, For starters, he intended to spend time later on the continuing maintenance of the cottage the Ashleys had shared after leasing the big house to the Underhills.

Doing the upkeep had been a way of reassuring himself that Bryony and her father would return to England, and of assuaging the errant loneliness that dogged his footsteps. It seemed an evermore important task than ever now that Bryony's homecoming was near at hand. A knowledge had come to him during the night of Mr. Ashley's death, saddening them both deeply.

Mrs. Henderson soon made her usual entrance into his home, with the news of Mr. Ashley's demise on her lips. Mrs. Henderson was probably the most voluble woman of his acquaintance, and years of experience had taught him how to deftly extract the information he sought, before calmly leaving her to set his home to rights as she had always done for both his family, the Vicar and even Ashley itself when necessary.

The Vicar had apparently received word from Bad Tolz, which he had passed on to those affected. The Vicar had received a full report from Dr. Gothard, who had also informed him of Miss Bryony's arrival there, and that arrangements were being made for a small service and cremation there. It was expected that she would arrive from the Continent by train and ferry sometime afterwards.

Not much was known of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Ashley's death, only that he had been apparently the victim of a hit-and-run accident, being found too late for medical assistance. It was a tragic loss that was being felt deeply amongst all those of Ashley who knew Jon Ashley to be a kind and compassionate individual.

Leaving Mrs. Henderson to her daily chores, he whistled for Shep as he stepped outdoors, heading for the dilapidated greenhouses outside the walled kitchen garden. Besides the fact that the Vicar himself might join him as he usually did when possible, as part of their shared quest to make the greenhouses a profitable paying venture, there was also the opportunity to hear firsthand what the Vicar had heard.

He found the Vicar as he had expected busy with the new tomato plants which had been started earlier in the month, and were now large enough to be tied to their canes. The

Vicar obviously believed work to be of a deeply restorative nature.

"Good morning, Vicar." he greeted the older man.

"Good morning, Rob. How are you?" Mr. Bryanston looked concernedly at him from kindly grey eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

"I reckon we've all had better 'uns, hey? Mrs. Henderson told me about Mr. Ashley."

The Vicar sighed, his round serious face showing his distress, "The place will never be the same without him, it is not going to be easy for anyone to adjust to that. It will also take time to accept that he's gone."

Rob cleared his throat, which had choked up a little, thinking of the painful moments of the night, "For Miss Bryony especially, it seems to me. Have you heard from her?"

The Vicar looked at him astutely, before dropping his eyes to the fragile stems of the plants before him on the bench, "Not from Miss Bryony as of yet, but I did speak at length with Dr. Gothard, and I intend to call Mr. Emerson this afternoon to see of what assistance I can be to him."

They worked companionably until the sun had risen to its zenith in the sky, their languid conversation focusing mainly on the substantive details of the coming change of guard as it were, as the Vicar so aptly turned the phrase. They amicably decided to meet later in the orchard to continuing spraying it's apple trees. Both were hot, tiring jobs but at least in the orchard there was the potential for the rising of a breeze to stir the turbid air.

As he took the familiar shortcut back to his home, cutting through said orchard, he was surprised to see an individual leaving the churchyard, exiting unto the main road, headed for a car which was parked under some branches.

It was the sense of furtiveness in the person's movements, as if to avoid attention, that stopped Rob in his tracks and caused him to duck behind a nearby apple tree, calling Shep to him. From this distance a description was nigh impossible, but if he had to, he would say he had seen a tall, blond-haired man.

That was all, except for the fact he seemed to be carrying a small package that he quickly stored in the boot before climbing into the driver's seat and sending the powerful car on its way. Rob stood watching guardedly from his hiding place, and once it was certain the car was gone, in the direction of nearby Worcester, he strode swiftly through the churchyard and into the church.

The church atmosphere was cool and serene, the candles flickered, and for whatever reason the intruder had entered, they had seemingly not harmed the church or Ashley at large. It was an incident to store away, but it begged the question of whether the time-honoured tradition of leaving the church unlocked for the weary passerby might need to be rethought out.

Continuing on for home, Shep meandering aimlessly along behind him, he found a lunch laid out for him by Mrs. Henderson, after which he headed for the orchard.

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The tasks of the day behind him, Rob had one more duty that he performed regular as clock work, in the same fashion each night, as much a part of his routine as the task of winding his watch while he sat on the edge of his bed preparing for sleep.

After a quiet evening alone with Shep, before turning in, he shrugged his way back into his jacket, and grabbed the keys that he kept in the drawer by the sink.

Leaving his farm lights on, he headed back across to the Court, casually intent on his task of night watchman. There was nothing untoward in the orchard, churchyard, or along the banks that lay between Ashley manor and the moat itself.

Following the driveway the crossed the moat, he carefully circled the House itself, checking that every door was locked. He quietly unlocked a side door leading into the library where the most valuable items in the house were kept now in locked exhibit cases, but even as he pushed the door open he could tell not even a mouse desecrated the silence of the room.

Still, as was his wont, he turned on his torch, flickering it over the cases as he slipped silently through the darkened room. Testing the doors to the hallway completed his official business for the night, and he retraced his steps into the chilly evening, returning thankfully to his cottage, leaving the Underhills to sleep in safety within.


End file.
